


Someday

by mah1



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mah1/pseuds/mah1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The key is on the side table. I hope you’ll see it there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

As I set my key on the little side table I bought from a yard sale three years ago, my mind turns to the way life sometimes takes people to directions that surprise them.   
  
I look around this little apartment of ours. It isn’t in an expensive or particularly ‘good’ area but the building itself is old and has a classic feel to it. I cannot even count the hours I’ve spent making our home perfect, the amount of love I’ve lavished upon it comes almost close   
to the amount of love I have for you.   
  
A faint smile touches my lips when my gaze lingers upon the olive leather couch. You hated it at first. It was a find as well as a bargain from an auction held in some strange location. You told me you would leave me for good if I dared to make a bid on the swamp monster, as you so affectionately called it. I relented. You surprised me by going to a war over it against some old lady wearing five different floral patterns. The couch repaid your romantic efforts by nearly crushing you when we tried to manhandle it through the door.   
  
We made love on that swamp monster. It was the most uncomfortable sex either of us had ever had.   
I think I have memories about every single piece of furniture or carefully selected knickknack there is in the apartment. And I do mean memories, little slices of our lives together, not just when or where each thing was bought.   
  
Others have much more significance. Like the water color to which we had to get a new frame because you pissed me off royally one day, maybe two years ago, and I smashed a coffee cup on it. I still remember it vividly. You were going out with your friends. I asked why I was never invited. I didn’t really want to come, I was merely curious. Then you made the mistake of saying that wives were not welcome. You were a little drunk and I’d had a bad day.  
  
Now that I think back on the fight I no longer feel those hurt feelings. Instead I keep wondering what I was doing drinking coffee that time of night. How our perspective changes as time goes on.   
  
I should probably ask you what kind of things our possessions bring to mind to you. I think they would be very different from mine, as we are different from each other.   
  
That was the first thing I fell in love with you; you are nothing like anyone I’ve ever met. You are laid back, spontaneous and carefree. I tend to fret and worry over trivial things that you simply brush off.   
  
When we started having sex you taught me it should be fun. You told me there were no rules, no right or wrong, that we should ask and tell one another what felt good.   
  
And we did.   
  
Five years ago when we bought the apartment we hardly left the bed on weekends. We had been together for a year and entered kind of a second honeymoon period. Nothing looked like it does now; the walls were ugly brown and the floors were scraped. You lifted me up and fucked me against those walls and I made you kneel on those scraped floors as I took you from behind. We were like animals and we had fun.   
  
I do love our home. I have loved it so much, because I needed to pour all my faffection into something. That October when you started to go to bars with your friends regularly every Friday, I started to paint. I came home from work and scraped the old paint and wallpaper and stood in the middle of the room for hours on end thinking which color would be the best.   
  
I wake up early every morning, even on the weekends. I do that, because there is no reason for me to stay in bed. When was the last time we started the day by making love? Even kissing? I don’t think you’d remember. It’s alright, I don’t either.   
  
I look at these things I’ve bought to our home so there would be some substitute for you, trying to pin point the one during which everything began to slide off course.   
  
When I broke the water color we still said ‘I love you’.   
  
When I had food poisoning and puked all over the carpet, we no longer did. I was sick and you took care of me, but instead of kissing the nape of my neck and saying those words, you patted me on the back.   
  
I stopped saying it that night.   
  
There were times when I felt hurt and wallowed in self pity. Like the time when I made you a special dinner and you took one look at it saying you had to go. I still don’t know where you went.   
  
I pouted, I was bitchy.Then  I realized how childish it was and tried talking to you. Eventually I gave up on that too, simply because you had no idea what I was saying. It was like I spoke in a foreign language. But I loved you.   
  
Six months ago you had a business trip that took the whole weekend. You forgot to tell me. You had your phone switched off. I called the hospitals and your friends, the ones whose numbers I had. Luckily I didn’t contact the police.   
  
You came home Sunday afternoon and brought me a snow globe. At that point I didn’t even cry. I didn’t have the energy to shout. We let it go. Or I did, I’m not sure you ever knew anything was off.   
  
I’m fairly positive you’re having an affair. Maybe I shouldn’t call it that, it sounds too refined. Truth be told I have very little doubt in my mind you are fucking around. I thought about confronting you and contemplated on getting some proof. Then what? I’d know for certain something I already suspect. What does it matter anyway?  
  
February is colder than usual this year and I had to turn up the heat. The plants thrive on it, looking greener than ever sitting in tasteful arrangements on the window sill. I don’t think the place would look like this if we were better together. Maybe it should be an indicator of sorts.   
  
All these lovely things, the shelves, the swamp monster and the side table, they are mine as much as they are yours. Yet I’ll take none of them with me. I don’t want them.   
  
Most of my important papers are locked in a safe deposit box. The ones I’ve had at home fit in a single folder. Neither of us have many clothes, so mine won’t take more than suitcase. Toothbrushes, deodorants and the like I threw away. After that I took out the garbage.   
  
There’s food in the fridge and I loaded up the coffee machine. I stand here, with my things, what little I have and look at our life together, unfolding in front of me.   
  
I still love you, so very much. I am just tired. I barely feel anything anymore. I would even welcome the tears I used to shed in my loneliness.   
  
Of course I should have told you. Let you know that I am leaving and that I am not coming back. But I'm so scared of what you might have said, or to be more precise, what you might not have said.   
  
The key is on the side table. I hope you’ll see it there.   
  
I woke up at six this morning and made you breakfast. I sat on that old couch for hours waiting. One sign, a phone call, a text, it would’ve been enough. If you had acknowledged this day that people say is overly   
commercialized, I’d have stayed.   
  
It was an unfair test but you failed it nevertheless.   
  
I wonder if you’ll miss me. I wonder if you’ll even notice that I’m gone.   
  
The door is open. I take my bags and close it.   
  
The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Concrit and comments always appreciated.


End file.
